The dimness of Skate America's technical corridor felt like an extension of the Russian winter. Zinov kept Bek cornered against the metal lockers, enjoying the tense silence that had formed following the closure of the short standings. With excruciating parsimony, the blonde stripped off his black leather gloves, tucking them into the pocket of his official coat with the elegance of someone who had just witnessed a boring show.
"Who would have thought the vaunted light of Kazakhstan was becoming a fraud," Zinov uttered with insufferable impudence, widening that thin, gelid smile that framed his flawless features. His emerald eyes distilled a cold mockery as he scanned the brunette's paleness. "So much international hype in the pre-season only to end up on your knees on the regular October ice, begging for execution points in an American tournament. You are a pitiful sight, my little one."
